


Rocky Road

by Callisto



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:32:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Dean swearing and rubbing the heel of his hand into Sam’s back really didn’t help any, but it was much easier to submit than argue. When the spasms passed, he leaned his forehead onto the cool glass of the passenger side window, shut his eyes again, and willed a motel to fucking <i>appear</i> already...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Rocky Road

**Author's Note:**

> Written to the prompts: exhaustion – blink – relieve - rocky

“Sam? You with me?”

In the passenger seat, Sam nodded but didn’t open his eyes. He dimly realized that Dean probably wouldn’t see the gesture in the dark, and would end up doing something horrible, like raising his voice or, God forbid, laying his hands somewhere on Sam, so he struggled to clear his throat in time—

“Sam!”

Sam winced, blinked his eyes open, and shrugged off the hand on his shoulder. _Goddammit_. He finished clearing his throat.

“’M fine.”

“Yeah, sure you are.” Dean’s right hand changed course and landed on his forehead.

Sam tried to get away, “...off, Dean!”

“You’re burning up.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Just leave—”

A series of coughs rattled up through his chest, cutting off whatever he was about to tell his brother to leave. Dean swearing and rubbing the heel of his hand into Sam’s back really didn’t help any, but it was much easier to submit than argue. When the spasms passed, he leaned his forehead onto the cool glass of the passenger side window, shut his eyes again, and willed a motel to fucking _appear_ already...

It was only a bad chill. He knew that, which was part of the reason he was pissed about feeling so lousy with it. Still, it was a bad chill on top of exhaustion. On top of a water spirit choosing the coldest lake in all of Montana to hide out in, and Sam to dunk three times in its less than cosy ‘home’.

Sam could feel Dean’s gaze on him as the speed picked up and the music faded to nothing. Something warm and heavy that smelled of beer and musk landed around his shoulders and he knew Dean had just given up his jacket as well as his music. He also knew he should now grunt something reassuring and grateful, but he was too damn tired and miserable to pretend to be okay and get Dean’s worry off his back.

 

“Sammy. Hey, listen. You got the remote and your phone right next to you. I’ll be back, okay?”

Sam was awake now. The sleep in the car had helped, and he’d never been so relieved in his life to see a lime-green motel room. He’d brushed his teeth, pulled on his softest sweatshirt and pants, and crawled into bed with a blissful groan. Only to realize that Dean had put his jacket back on, and was waving car keys around. Sam knew they were low on funds and no doubt needed the quick pool money Dean could earn in the next hour or two, just like he knew the tears pricking his eyes were both ridiculous and fever-induced. But he was feeling too sorry for himself not to indulge, just a little. The middle of nowhere, his throat like sandpaper, his head about to fall off it was so heavy, and his goddamn brother was heading out to a bar. He didn’t want to cough—or cry—so he nodded. Dean shook his head and muttered something under his breath as he shut the door behind him.

All set for a pity party, Sam hadn’t even flicked through more than three channels when Dean was back in the room, clutching a paper bag and muttering about idiot cashiers who raised their eyebrows at the surname on the current credit card.

He shrugged off his jacket and looked at Sam. “I mean, there’s got to be more than one Hasselhoff on the planet. Dude wasn’t an orphan, right?”

“He could be a demon, though,” said Sam.

“Hey.” The beam on Dean’s face was out of all proportion to Sam’s miniscule attempt at humor. He came over and perched on Sam's bed. “It speaks! And without coughing. How’re you doing?”

Sam endured the hand on his forehead with better grace this time.

“Still a little warm there, but do not worry, I have the perfect medicine right here.”

Touched that Dean had somehow found an all night pharmacy in record time, Sam was even more touched when a cold spoon and an even colder container of something was pressed into his hands.

“Rocky Road, bro. Your favorite.”

Sam looked at what he held and knew his eyes were watering again. He swallowed and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He kept his eyes on the blanket and the silence lasted a beat too long.

“Sam? We having a moment over a scoop of ice cream here?”

Sam blinked the blurriness from his eyes and thought about how good all that cold, cold chocolate was going to feel. And about how good it felt to have Mr Hasselhoff here to share it with.

He smiled, looked up at Dean and tried again. “Bite me.”

“Better. Now eat up, and if you’re nice, I’ll give you my marshmallows, because I truly am the most awesome brother in the world.”

One soothed throat and chocolate mustache later, Sam had no choice but to agree.

*******


End file.
